Everything we've been doing lately is in his name. Apartment, utilities, bus pass, all of the bills... it could have been any one of them, at this point.
I haven't felt like being out in the open these days. I can't imagine that makes it easier. Building a case for someone like me.
[ One could argue it isn't late at night โ one could argue it is, in fact, early in the morning, when Foggy gets this text.
(Matt. Matt will argue this fact, having had virtually no time to sleep in conjunction with a rather nasty drug bust as Daredevil, where he is too wired too sleep and his brain is simply working too fast for him to force himself to sleep properly. He laid on his mattress for approximately thirty minutes before propping his laptop open and getting his needed paperwork ready on the side.) ]
Just to confirm, what time is our meeting with our client tomorrow?
[and one could also argue that franklin 'foggy' nelson deserves better than this. luckily for matt, foggy is also kind of neurotic and was up preparing his notes for a court hearing they have in two days.
it's just kind of annoying that matt just assumes he's awake.
[ Matt would argue for that, too. Would argue that he is lucky that Foggy is awake enough to reply, awake enough to cater to Matt's consistent (also, uh, inconsistent) and odd schedule that often times affects their practice.
But no, he'll never change or adjust it, despite being aware of this. Matt is nothing but stubborn, especially when he thinks he is right. His head cants to the side, ]
Couldn't sleep.
[ No matter how hard he tried, because he'd usually sleep in until he's borderline late. ]
remember when we were in columbia and we slept like babies after marathonic study sessions? yeah, me too. i miss those days.
[but now there's something else, too. foggy keeps forgetting, and it feels stupid to forget, that matt harbors a secret life at night. he had promised he wouldn't freak out with worry, but... matt's still his best friend. and blind, too. and stupidly reckless.]
Remember all the 'study sessions' we had where you tried to go over your Punjabi exercises?
[ The unsaid implication is: I miss it, too and I also miss when we'd bypass the studying and just eat trashy shit and drink beer and be normal. There's a wry, almost nostalgic, sort of smile that graces his lips, coupled with it. Right as he runs his fingertips over notes, reports that the two of them have received and that he is โ hm, barely refreshing over now. Completely bypassing the possible worry that would come with a question like, 'you went out tonight?'
Of course he did, he thinks. He goes out every night. But he isn't going to say thatโ ]
i'm going to take you texting me at ass in the morning asking me about our 10am meeting as a good sign that you're home and alive.
[it's not like foggy can stop matt from doing what he thinks he has to do. but he's also thinking this is why his friend can't get himself to sleep; too much adrenaline? either way, at least he's not unconscious in the gutter or up on a rooftop.]
want to talk about tonight? i could head over. we can discuss our client's situation.
[ He does, indeed, go through the effort of saying and punctuating this. Matt is blind, but he isn't blind to the way Foggy talks. He knows him. Knows what he means, especially when he puts emphasis on 'you're home and alive'. But that doesn't mean he readily replies to his suggestion, the unsaid request to just come check up on him to see how bad he's bleeding (arguably, not terrible, but not great either โ still, Matt has become used to stitching himself up).
It's a few minutes of tense thought before he replies. Gives him not necessarily a no, not necessarily a yes, either. ]
[now, hereโs the thing: foggy knows that itโs not fair of him to put matt on the spot, even if he personally thinks that this whole thing that he does is reckless and, at times, stupid. he is also aware that matt could very well leave him out of his vigilantism if he deems foggy as too nagging or just interfering in what he thinks must be done.
itโs a very thin line between being unable to stop worrying over his best friend and not wanting to do too much of it as to not have him be closed off from everyone.]
i really hate that every time i want to go over to hang out, youโre going to think that itโs because iโm โsecretlyโ trying to check if youโre bleeding on the couch.
[at least they have a level of openness with one another. and, since it was neither a no nor a yes...]
iโll head over and we can discuss our clientโs case. i really need to go over this opening statement with you, man.
i promise i wonโt say anything about your appearance or anything. other than โmaybe stop being so handsomeโ, because youโll probably need that ego boost.
okay?
[they both canโt sleep, wired as they may be for different things. foggy thinks this might help.]
[ Matt lets his back dig into the back of the couch, head angled slightly towards the screen reader that reads out Foggy's texts message by message. He imagines his voice in his head with every word that's pronounced, gently lets the full weight of his head rest on the cushion.
And thenโ there's a wry sort of smile. He's right, tends to always be when he reads him hook, line, and sinker. It's freeing in a way, to be read so easily between the lines like this. Foggy makes it a little less scary โ arguably manages this with a lot of things โ the thought of him coming over while he's like this. ]
I'm handsome, though? I didn't even know.
[ Teasing. Goading. Purposely obtuse because Foggy has told Matt enough how good looking he is. Then there's a beat or two of silence, a quiet 'but' that precursors hisโ ]
Okay.
[ And he's up, gently moving off the couch to wander over to his fridge to see if he has anything to offer Foggy when he arrives (all with a slow, careful and strained gait). ]
We can run over your opening statement and work through some talking points we need to hit. I'll be here.
[thatโs the thing with having the responsibility of being mattโs best friend: patience, and being able to read between the lines at all those things left unsaid. they used to be inseparable, once upon a time, when the playing field was even (yes, even, despite matt being blind), but now with this daredevil side gig (or main gig?) that mattโs got going on, itโs hard for foggy to feel like they are even in the same planet at times.
to be able to touch base on these small things that are still them is important to him, and itโs important also for matt, he bets. to make that clear line between matt the lawyer and matt the vigilante.
foggy worries, and yet this is one of the very few things he can focus on doing.
he leaves matt a couple of messages for when heโs heading out, to keep his friend in the loop, and takes a sideturn into a deli to buy some very late night pulled-beef tacos. god bless new york, the city that never sleeps.
this does eat up some extra minutes of his arrival time, but foggy makes it quite alright, helping himself inside the apartment after checking to see if the door was locked or not.]
You knowโ youโre not allowed to tell me to be careful because itโs late at night when you leave your door unlocked.
[maybe he left it for foggy! but his point stands. the apartment is, unsurprisingly, in the dark, but for the neon-bright light that spills in through the tall windows; there is some light coming from the kitchenโs sink area, and foggy helps himself further inside, setting his bag of goodies on the dining table, his backpack on a chair.]
Do I get to comment on how you look?
[not on a handsome scale! but on a โyou look like shit scaleโ.]
[ Friday nights at Josie's are more of a ritual for the firmโ for Foggy, Karen, and him. Sometimes he's able to make it, other times he has to bail with a poor, semi convincing, excuse on his lips as he spends his night being somebody else, somebody a little too close to his skin that makes him feel comfortable. Tonight, despite his open bruises hidden behind glasses and a smile, he has made an appearance.
Foggy and Karen are, first of all, elated. Worried, as always, but elated.
Matt shares that enthusiasm, has to hide the overstimulation taking over his body deep down at the different smells, the sounds, of so many people inside the bar. He's become used to muffling it out, focusing on a handful of comforting, familiar, sounds to make the experience better until he's a little buzzed. He's halfway bent over a pool table, Karen standing by with an amused sort of smile watching him and Foggy watching tensely as he lines up his shot.
Then, in the time it takes for him to feel the displaced air and the jingle of the door opening, he hears itโ her heartbeat. He's heard it edge a similar pace to this when the fight as over, when he'd been able to gather his wits and realize she had powers. And if it isn't the heartbeat, it's her smell that gives her away, even as she wanders into the distinct scent of Josie's with all the intent of getting a drink at the bar.
'Uh, Matt?' Foggy says, watching him angle his head minutely to the side before he purposely fumbles his turn. Everybody groans and Matt looks sheepish, because it's not like he could see which balls were his, right? And his punishment? Getting a round of drinks for everyone up at the bar. He makes a show of him putting the billiard down โ a halfway fumble that Foggy affectionately grabs โ before making his way over to the barโ right up to where Daisy's sat herself. ]
[ It's been a long, boring day, and Daisy Johnson desperately needs a drink. There are still a few days left of her torturous shore leave before she can at least start working on some network upgrades, and she'd resorted to spending her time as a tourist just for something to do. Times Square where she'd seen an assortment of costumed Avengers taking selfies; Central Park where she'd watched an amateur theater performance recounting the Battle for New York; Brooklyn where she'd followed a walking tour of Steve Rogers' life. She's exhausted from trying to kill time.
The dive bar she steps into has terrible ratings online, which is half the reason she chose it. Those ratings go back far enough that it's clear the place is for locals only, which is something she's ready to embrace after feeling like an outsider in the city. And as she steps into the building, it certainly doesn't disappoint. Everything's worn and lived in, maybe a little dirty if you look too closely in the dim lighting, but it's all charming in its own way. She especially likes the strands of lights hung around the ceiling and the pool table and pinball machine tucked in the back.
Settling in an open seat at the bar, she catches the attention of the woman behind the bar (Josie, she's guessing), who gives her the briefest acknowledgment before going back to cleaning a glass. She can't help but smile to herself; the older woman will mosey on over eventually, but in the meantime, she can enjoy the slightly grimy ambiance of this fine establishment.
The man who comes up beside her catches her attention with the way he moves, the vibrations of each action feeling just slightly different from everyone else. She turns her head to look at him, the air around her shifting as her long hair falls over her shoulder, bringing her smell closer to him. Lemon from her shampoo, coffee that she drinks too much of every day, the leather of her jacket, and a hint of lubricating oil from the mechanical keyboard she'd meticulously cleaned and rebuilt earlier in the week. Her eyes scan him up and down, taking in the glasses that would make a person nearly blind in the dimly lit room — unless they already were.
Having lived and worked with people with various disabilities for years now, she knows better than to outright ask if he needs any help. He'd made his way to the bar without too much trouble, as far as she can tell, which means he's probably more familiar with the place than she is. But she still feels like she needs to say something to make sure he knows she's there and is aware of him. ]
You staying or just visiting? [ It's perhaps not her best opening line. ]
โPowerplex, or Scott Duvall, is passionate. Flawed. Swallowed by his pursuit for justice and Matt can only sympathize, his yearning for what's right when the system has made everything so wrong. So hard. He listens, and listens, and listens, as he explains his case. Presents his evidence. As they cross examine timelines, gather a case. It's the first time he's been involved with something so blatantly superโ it makes his skin itch.
(He wonders if Jennifer feels the same crawl on her body as he does, hearing the things a super plaintiff has done (allegedly, always important to discern: allegedly) done.)
Scott Duvall pleads, to him and Kirsten.
Matt has to stand there and pretend like he can't relate, the complications of heroism. Unneeded deaths. Pain and grief, and misery. His hands only grip his cane as Kirsten takes hold of the conversation, covering for a very distracted Matt Murdock. By the end of it, he reassures Scott that he is in good hands. Asks if there is anyone he personally knows that can corroborate his story before parting ways. Insisting he contact the firm, or either of them.
It's mostly a courtesy, him saying that.
Cherry wouldn't approve. No one would, really. Matt dons his cowl and he is on the streets, gathering intel. Biding his time. By day three he's got a good whiff of Invincible and his erratic schedule. He's leaping on roofs and climbing staircases, slowing where needed as Invincible hovers in the air and fights lower-level baddies, his destruction minimal. ]
[ Most of the time, Mark has no idea what's going on in the civilian world.
There's his own life, of course. His time spent with Eve, his mom, Oliver, William. There's the bowling alley and fast food meetups and comic shops and his own small group because since his senior year of high school, his civilian life has been severely whittled down to just a handful of people, and he's too young with too much of the weight of the world on his shoulders to appreciate that it should be different.
Which means, of course, he knows absolutely nothing about impending legal proceedings, the fact that he could ever sit in a courthouse, be accused of anything. He is so blatantly a good guy. Nevermind the other versions of him that caused so much destruction, he is a good guy. Look at what a good guy he's being, he just stopped a bank from being robbed, a bizarrely common occurrence that Mark doesn't question because that's just something that happens frequently. He's hovering in the air, surveying his work (three guys groaning out on the street, two broken windows, a building that's going to need a bit of plastering but is otherwise fine), waiting for the cops to arrive so they can take over the stuff he has no idea about.
Like putting people in jail, and stopping anyone else from trying anything because of the broken windows, and how to fix a couple of holes in a couple of walls. None of those are his department, and so, Mark waits.
Swears something just moved behind him? He turns around to the building behind him, tilting his head and squinting from behind his goggles, like that'll help him see better. ]
Uh, if you're here to rob this place you can try, but I already took care of all of your buddies, so...
[ Youthful, and cocky, and not entirely undeservedly so. Round four with another goon? Sure, why not. ]
[ His lips stretchโ it's something resembling a smile. It's hard to tell if it's from recognition of a familiar situation (not the first time someone's assumed he's responsible for a breaking and entering), it's mirth, or at getting the attention of Invincible. He angles his head up just enough, pinned where he hovers in the sky from the displacement of air, the steady heartbeat thrumming in the sky. Blood pumping from veins beneath a costume not too dissimilar from his own.
There's a steady reach of his billy club, his head easing down and ear pointed towards a collapsed part of the bank. Matt's voice is more a natural gravel in return, raised only slightly for his benefit. ]
Not all of them, looks like.
[ Unlike him, Matt has plenty of experience in the smaller stuff. He lives and breathes small stuff (even if he's technically retired), tracking down criminals and helping out every denizen of Hell's Kitchen. Being able to throw himself into the line of danger. Keeping an ear out for odd things, here and there.
(Like the sound of foot crunching over glass and gravel. The distant sound of sirens, tires rolling and burning against the asphalt.)
It's almost absurd, comical, the trajectory of his billy club. The route it takes from one street light to railing to person. It's an unlucky passerby who thought he could pull a fast one, see if he could slink by and into a window. He's laying on the ground now, groaning, right as his club thwips back to him, wire gleaming where it catches street light. ]
[ Not all of them? Mark is looking at this guy flatly, like he can't believe he's trying to weasel his way out of his upcoming date with the cops that Mark is going to see to. He just has to swoop in, grab him, knock him out or something? Okay he hasn't thought that far ahead yet, butโ
But he's throwing something?? It's an instinctual reaction to flinch, even though it probably won't hurt him; especially because it isn't even aimed at him. It's all Mark can do but turn to watch the billy club's trajectory, from streetlight to railing to person, a person Mark had not noticed was there, who was not even remotely on his radar. He stares, hovering there, jaw slackened and heartbeat steady, dumbly watching as the club snaps back to his current guy.
Goon #4, who just took out Goon #5? Or maybe Current Guy just took out Goon #4, which would make himโ ]
I don'tโ Heyโ How did you even do that? [ Sputtering, in part because he's surprised, in part because he's a kid whose ego just took a hit and he's trying to figure out how to cope with that. ] Aren't you, like...
[ gesturing at Matt, now. Feeling a little wary of coming in any closer, like he's going to get bonked on the head. ]
... I mean, there are horns on your head, dude.
[ Isn't that kind of a universal signal for bad guy? ]
[ Thatโ isn't the first, or ever will be the last time he'll get that reaction. Matt can't see his horns, but he's felt them throughout it's different iterations. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen has an imposing image to keep up, even if people outside his neighborhood tend to misread his intentions. He sinks his billy club back into the holster by his thigh and looks up at him.
Tilts his head minutely, searching out for his heartbeat among the groaning of the man below them. The genuine surprise and fluster in his voice so very loud in his ears. He takes only a little satisfaction in itโ it's not like he came here to impress, or team up with, Invincible. Only feel him out, really. More work off the clock. How else would he get his attention without putting himself at risk? ]
And you're flying.
[ He's not going to get bonked on the head, but he will get a little bit of that trademark (sarcastic, vaguely cheeky) delivery of his. ]
And staring dumbly at Sarcastic Horns Guy, unsure of how he's supposed to proceed here. It's justโ He feels like he's being watched? Obviously he's being watched, because Mark's sense of imagination is fairly limited, but it feels like SHG is really perceiving him, in ways that Mark does not know how to interpret. Should he be feeling bad about this? He looks around from side to side, like, are there more of Angstrom's drones here, does SHG work for him, but...
Mark's hands fall to his sides, limp. ]
... What you want, I guess. Since I have no idea.
[ He doesn't think there are any drones here. He doesn't think this is a continuation of anything Angstrom has going on. SHG probably wouldn't like him? He thinks? He doesn't know, just, this feels like something else.
A beat. ]
Do you want me to come down?
[ Is his flying an issue or was SHG just being sarcastic?? Really, it feels like it could go either way at this point. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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My most oldest and most trusted superhero pal.
Quick one
Do you remember signing me up to steal a whale?
the fact i actually just read that issue has me hollering gjkgsdg
[ But yes. He figures the clarification should be enough becauseโ ]
Why do I get the feeling you're about to ask me for a favor?
fkrdlgd me like trying to remember the last positive team-up DD and spider-man had
I can tell one of us never had to worry about paying for texts by the letter.
2/2
I'm offering you a night of FUN.
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I'm listening, though.
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All of them, if you get my drift.
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A smart guy would probably say legal.
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[ But as Daredevilโ ]
Is it connected?
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But at least it's nothing to do with the sewers.
This time.
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Go ahead and give me the rundown on the case.
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Guy wasn't half bad at it, either. He wanted me to notice. Probably so that I wouldn't notice when his partner hit me with a taxi.
Normally getting run over is not a big deal...
[ there's an implied "but"... ]
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But?
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Which isn't unusual for me OR for people hit by taxis, I realize.
Came to and they were gone. Maybe they thought we were dead. I have to find out why they were tailing me to begin with.
And now Steven's being accused of stealing and crashing a taxi.
Maybe I should have led with that.
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Or at least, they're connected.
Do you have a name for the company the taxi came from? We can start there.
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It checks out if they're a front for something.
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I'll do some looking around and see if I can come up with more on Seamark.
How did they contact Steven?
Anything we can trace back?
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I haven't felt like being out in the open these days. I can't imagine that makes it easier. Building a case for someone like me.
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Have a little faith in me, Marc.
[ Besides, he's managed arguably worse. Arguable more impossible cases. Working with Marc, and by proxy Steven, is a cakewalk. ]
We'll keep his name clear. I promise.
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(Matt. Matt will argue this fact, having had virtually no time to sleep in conjunction with a rather nasty drug bust as Daredevil, where he is too wired too sleep and his brain is simply working too fast for him to force himself to sleep properly. He laid on his mattress for approximately thirty minutes before propping his laptop open and getting his needed paperwork ready on the side.) ]
Just to confirm, what time is our meeting with our client tomorrow?
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it's just kind of annoying that matt just assumes he's awake.
best friend that he is, he answers:]
10AM
why the hell are you up?
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But no, he'll never change or adjust it, despite being aware of this. Matt is nothing but stubborn, especially when he thinks he is right. His head cants to the side, ]
Couldn't sleep.
[ No matter how hard he tried, because he'd usually sleep in until he's borderline late. ]
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yeah, me too.
i miss those days.
[but now there's something else, too. foggy keeps forgetting, and it feels stupid to forget, that matt harbors a secret life at night. he had promised he wouldn't freak out with worry, but... matt's still his best friend. and blind, too. and stupidly reckless.]
you went out tonight?
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[ The unsaid implication is: I miss it, too and I also miss when we'd bypass the studying and just eat trashy shit and drink beer and be normal. There's a wry, almost nostalgic, sort of smile that graces his lips, coupled with it. Right as he runs his fingertips over notes, reports that the two of them have received and that he is โ hm, barely refreshing over now. Completely bypassing the possible worry that would come with a question like, 'you went out tonight?'
Of course he did, he thinks. He goes out every night. But he isn't going to say thatโ ]
I had to.
It couldn't wait until tomorrow.
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[blaming him for it, that's right.]
i'm going to take you texting me at ass in the morning asking me about our 10am meeting as a good sign that you're home and alive.
[it's not like foggy can stop matt from doing what he thinks he has to do. but he's also thinking this is why his friend can't get himself to sleep; too much adrenaline? either way, at least he's not unconscious in the gutter or up on a rooftop.]
want to talk about tonight? i could head over.
we can discuss our client's situation.
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[ He does, indeed, go through the effort of saying and punctuating this. Matt is blind, but he isn't blind to the way Foggy talks. He knows him. Knows what he means, especially when he puts emphasis on 'you're home and alive'. But that doesn't mean he readily replies to his suggestion, the unsaid request to just come check up on him to see how bad he's bleeding (arguably, not terrible, but not great either โ still, Matt has become used to stitching himself up).
It's a few minutes of tense thought before he replies. Gives him not necessarily a no, not necessarily a yes, either. ]
You don't have to, Foggy.
I'll be fine.
You should get some rest.
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itโs a very thin line between being unable to stop worrying over his best friend and not wanting to do too much of it as to not have him be closed off from everyone.]
i really hate that every time i want to go over to hang out, youโre going to think that itโs because iโm โsecretlyโ trying to check if youโre bleeding on the couch.
[at least they have a level of openness with one another. and, since it was neither a no nor a yes...]
iโll head over and we can discuss our clientโs case.
i really need to go over this opening statement with you, man.
i promise i wonโt say anything about your appearance or anything. other than โmaybe stop being so handsomeโ, because youโll probably need that ego boost.
okay?
[they both canโt sleep, wired as they may be for different things. foggy thinks this might help.]
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Just this time.
[ Matt lets his back dig into the back of the couch, head angled slightly towards the screen reader that reads out Foggy's texts message by message. He imagines his voice in his head with every word that's pronounced, gently lets the full weight of his head rest on the cushion.
And thenโ there's a wry sort of smile. He's right, tends to always be when he reads him hook, line, and sinker. It's freeing in a way, to be read so easily between the lines like this. Foggy makes it a little less scary โ arguably manages this with a lot of things โ the thought of him coming over while he's like this. ]
I'm handsome, though? I didn't even know.
[ Teasing. Goading. Purposely obtuse because Foggy has told Matt enough how good looking he is. Then there's a beat or two of silence, a quiet 'but' that precursors hisโ ]
Okay.
[ And he's up, gently moving off the couch to wander over to his fridge to see if he has anything to offer Foggy when he arrives (all with a slow, careful and strained gait). ]
We can run over your opening statement and work through some talking points we need to hit.
I'll be here.
Be careful, it's late at night.
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[thatโs the thing with having the responsibility of being mattโs best friend: patience, and being able to read between the lines at all those things left unsaid. they used to be inseparable, once upon a time, when the playing field was even (yes, even, despite matt being blind), but now with this daredevil side gig (or main gig?) that mattโs got going on, itโs hard for foggy to feel like they are even in the same planet at times.
to be able to touch base on these small things that are still them is important to him, and itโs important also for matt, he bets. to make that clear line between matt the lawyer and matt the vigilante.
foggy worries, and yet this is one of the very few things he can focus on doing.
he leaves matt a couple of messages for when heโs heading out, to keep his friend in the loop, and takes a sideturn into a deli to buy some very late night pulled-beef tacos. god bless new york, the city that never sleeps.
this does eat up some extra minutes of his arrival time, but foggy makes it quite alright, helping himself inside the apartment after checking to see if the door was locked or not.]
You knowโ youโre not allowed to tell me to be careful because itโs late at night when you leave your door unlocked.
[maybe he left it for foggy! but his point stands. the apartment is, unsurprisingly, in the dark, but for the neon-bright light that spills in through the tall windows; there is some light coming from the kitchenโs sink area, and foggy helps himself further inside, setting his bag of goodies on the dining table, his backpack on a chair.]
Do I get to comment on how you look?
[not on a handsome scale! but on a โyou look like shit scaleโ.]
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Foggy and Karen are, first of all, elated. Worried, as always, but elated.
Matt shares that enthusiasm, has to hide the overstimulation taking over his body deep down at the different smells, the sounds, of so many people inside the bar. He's become used to muffling it out, focusing on a handful of comforting, familiar, sounds to make the experience better until he's a little buzzed. He's halfway bent over a pool table, Karen standing by with an amused sort of smile watching him and Foggy watching tensely as he lines up his shot.
Then, in the time it takes for him to feel the displaced air and the jingle of the door opening, he hears itโ her heartbeat. He's heard it edge a similar pace to this when the fight as over, when he'd been able to gather his wits and realize she had powers. And if it isn't the heartbeat, it's her smell that gives her away, even as she wanders into the distinct scent of Josie's with all the intent of getting a drink at the bar.
'Uh, Matt?' Foggy says, watching him angle his head minutely to the side before he purposely fumbles his turn. Everybody groans and Matt looks sheepish, because it's not like he could see which balls were his, right? And his punishment? Getting a round of drinks for everyone up at the bar. He makes a show of him putting the billiard down โ a halfway fumble that Foggy affectionately grabs โ before making his way over to the barโ right up to where Daisy's sat herself. ]
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The dive bar she steps into has terrible ratings online, which is half the reason she chose it. Those ratings go back far enough that it's clear the place is for locals only, which is something she's ready to embrace after feeling like an outsider in the city. And as she steps into the building, it certainly doesn't disappoint. Everything's worn and lived in, maybe a little dirty if you look too closely in the dim lighting, but it's all charming in its own way. She especially likes the strands of lights hung around the ceiling and the pool table and pinball machine tucked in the back.
Settling in an open seat at the bar, she catches the attention of the woman behind the bar (Josie, she's guessing), who gives her the briefest acknowledgment before going back to cleaning a glass. She can't help but smile to herself; the older woman will mosey on over eventually, but in the meantime, she can enjoy the slightly grimy ambiance of this fine establishment.
The man who comes up beside her catches her attention with the way he moves, the vibrations of each action feeling just slightly different from everyone else. She turns her head to look at him, the air around her shifting as her long hair falls over her shoulder, bringing her smell closer to him. Lemon from her shampoo, coffee that she drinks too much of every day, the leather of her jacket, and a hint of lubricating oil from the mechanical keyboard she'd meticulously cleaned and rebuilt earlier in the week. Her eyes scan him up and down, taking in the glasses that would make a person nearly blind in the dimly lit room — unless they already were.
Having lived and worked with people with various disabilities for years now, she knows better than to outright ask if he needs any help. He'd made his way to the bar without too much trouble, as far as she can tell, which means he's probably more familiar with the place than she is. But she still feels like she needs to say something to make sure he knows she's there and is aware of him. ]
You staying or just visiting? [ It's perhaps not her best opening line. ]
๐ฉ๐๐ฉ๐ก๐๐๐๐ง๐ ๐ mark
โPowerplex, or Scott Duvall, is passionate. Flawed. Swallowed by his pursuit for justice and Matt can only sympathize, his yearning for what's right when the system has made everything so wrong. So hard. He listens, and listens, and listens, as he explains his case. Presents his evidence. As they cross examine timelines, gather a case. It's the first time he's been involved with something so blatantly superโ it makes his skin itch.
(He wonders if Jennifer feels the same crawl on her body as he does, hearing the things a super plaintiff has done (allegedly, always important to discern: allegedly) done.)
Scott Duvall pleads, to him and Kirsten.
Matt has to stand there and pretend like he can't relate, the complications of heroism. Unneeded deaths. Pain and grief, and misery. His hands only grip his cane as Kirsten takes hold of the conversation, covering for a very distracted Matt Murdock. By the end of it, he reassures Scott that he is in good hands. Asks if there is anyone he personally knows that can corroborate his story before parting ways. Insisting he contact the firm, or either of them.
It's mostly a courtesy, him saying that.
Cherry wouldn't approve. No one would, really. Matt dons his cowl and he is on the streets, gathering intel. Biding his time. By day three he's got a good whiff of Invincible and his erratic schedule. He's leaping on roofs and climbing staircases, slowing where needed as Invincible hovers in the air and fights lower-level baddies, his destruction minimal. ]
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There's his own life, of course. His time spent with Eve, his mom, Oliver, William. There's the bowling alley and fast food meetups and comic shops and his own small group because since his senior year of high school, his civilian life has been severely whittled down to just a handful of people, and he's too young with too much of the weight of the world on his shoulders to appreciate that it should be different.
Which means, of course, he knows absolutely nothing about impending legal proceedings, the fact that he could ever sit in a courthouse, be accused of anything. He is so blatantly a good guy. Nevermind the other versions of him that caused so much destruction, he is a good guy. Look at what a good guy he's being, he just stopped a bank from being robbed, a bizarrely common occurrence that Mark doesn't question because that's just something that happens frequently. He's hovering in the air, surveying his work (three guys groaning out on the street, two broken windows, a building that's going to need a bit of plastering but is otherwise fine), waiting for the cops to arrive so they can take over the stuff he has no idea about.
Like putting people in jail, and stopping anyone else from trying anything because of the broken windows, and how to fix a couple of holes in a couple of walls. None of those are his department, and so, Mark waits.
Swears something just moved behind him? He turns around to the building behind him, tilting his head and squinting from behind his goggles, like that'll help him see better. ]
Uh, if you're here to rob this place you can try, but I already took care of all of your buddies, so...
[ Youthful, and cocky, and not entirely undeservedly so. Round four with another goon? Sure, why not. ]
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There's a steady reach of his billy club, his head easing down and ear pointed towards a collapsed part of the bank. Matt's voice is more a natural gravel in return, raised only slightly for his benefit. ]
Not all of them, looks like.
[ Unlike him, Matt has plenty of experience in the smaller stuff. He lives and breathes small stuff (even if he's technically retired), tracking down criminals and helping out every denizen of Hell's Kitchen. Being able to throw himself into the line of danger. Keeping an ear out for odd things, here and there.
(Like the sound of foot crunching over glass and gravel. The distant sound of sirens, tires rolling and burning against the asphalt.)
It's almost absurd, comical, the trajectory of his billy club. The route it takes from one street light to railing to person. It's an unlucky passerby who thought he could pull a fast one, see if he could slink by and into a window. He's laying on the ground now, groaning, right as his club thwips back to him, wire gleaming where it catches street light. ]
You should be keeping a better eye on them.
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But he's throwing something?? It's an instinctual reaction to flinch, even though it probably won't hurt him; especially because it isn't even aimed at him. It's all Mark can do but turn to watch the billy club's trajectory, from streetlight to railing to person, a person Mark had not noticed was there, who was not even remotely on his radar. He stares, hovering there, jaw slackened and heartbeat steady, dumbly watching as the club snaps back to his current guy.
Goon #4, who just took out Goon #5? Or maybe Current Guy just took out Goon #4, which would make himโ ]
I don'tโ Heyโ How did you even do that? [ Sputtering, in part because he's surprised, in part because he's a kid whose ego just took a hit and he's trying to figure out how to cope with that. ] Aren't you, like...
[ gesturing at Matt, now. Feeling a little wary of coming in any closer, like he's going to get bonked on the head. ]
... I mean, there are horns on your head, dude.
[ Isn't that kind of a universal signal for bad guy? ]
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Tilts his head minutely, searching out for his heartbeat among the groaning of the man below them. The genuine surprise and fluster in his voice so very loud in his ears. He takes only a little satisfaction in itโ it's not like he came here to impress, or team up with, Invincible. Only feel him out, really. More work off the clock. How else would he get his attention without putting himself at risk? ]
And you're flying.
[ He's not going to get bonked on the head, but he will get a little bit of that trademark (sarcastic, vaguely cheeky) delivery of his. ]
Anything else we need to get out of the way?
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And staring dumbly at Sarcastic Horns Guy, unsure of how he's supposed to proceed here. It's justโ He feels like he's being watched? Obviously he's being watched, because Mark's sense of imagination is fairly limited, but it feels like SHG is really perceiving him, in ways that Mark does not know how to interpret. Should he be feeling bad about this? He looks around from side to side, like, are there more of Angstrom's drones here, does SHG work for him, but...
Mark's hands fall to his sides, limp. ]
... What you want, I guess. Since I have no idea.
[ He doesn't think there are any drones here. He doesn't think this is a continuation of anything Angstrom has going on. SHG probably wouldn't like him? He thinks? He doesn't know, just, this feels like something else.
A beat. ]
Do you want me to come down?
[ Is his flying an issue or was SHG just being sarcastic?? Really, it feels like it could go either way at this point. ]